


The Lotto

by KrumPuffer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Bottom Harry Potter, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, Hate Sex, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Ice Cream, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrumPuffer/pseuds/KrumPuffer
Summary: Voldemort may be dead, but not without leaving one final fuck you to the magical world.  On the eve on his death all remaining witches and wizards, both good and evil, join together to see whose name will be drawn from The Lotto, and who will have to fuck or die.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 43
Kudos: 241
Collections: Farewell to Summer: The 31 Flavors of Smut





	1. The Lotto

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Farewell to Summer: 31 Flavors of Smut Fest. I was given the following prompts to include in my story. 
> 
> Pair: Darcy/Harry  
> Ice cream flavor: Cotton Candy Crackle  
> Trope: Fuck or Die  
> Kink: Rough Sex 
> 
> Thank you to the hosts who did an amazing job putting this fest together! You all deserve a double scoop for this! 🖤

<https://krumpuffera03.tumblr.com/post/629984278591209472/show-chapter-archive>

Crowds of witches and wizards shuffle into the arena. It’s the fifth year of the lottery, the curse Voldemort left the magical world as a parting gift before I took him to his grave. A curse that even the smartest witches and wizards could not stop without bringing our kind to a screeching halt. It was like the bite of a basilisk, the green light of Avada Kedavra, the growing death of a cursed ring upon your finger, slowly killing you, no one able to stop it. It was Voldemort’s immortal fuck you—no pun intended—and the wizarding community had abided by it on this night for the last five years. 

Every year, on the eve of Voldemort’s death, all witches and wizards that were a part of the war, be it the good side or the bad, gather in an arena. The minister for magic, Kingsley Shaklebolt, draws three names from a cursed cauldron, and of the three names chosen, two of the names must have sex with each other, or all three die. 

If you were a part of the war, your children would be grandfathered in on the birthday they become of age, ensuring to keep this curse alive generationally. The only way to stop it would mean killing off our bloodlines, stop having children altogether, which no one seemed to be on board with. So here we are, five years have gone by, and, so far, no one has died. We are all waiting for the year that three wrong names get picked, we all fear the year people start to say no. 

I make my way in, keeping an eye out for Ron, and it amazes me how after five years, they still look at me—at my scar, sizing me up, expecting me to be the one to break this curse, I am the chosen one, right? I defeated Voldemort, so the expectation of ending this curse has become my responsibility. 

Only it’s not. I have no fucking clue how to end this.

“Harry. Over here!”

I scan the crowd trying to locate the familiar voice, his bright red hair helping me find him. Ron Weasley is a few people ahead of me, standing still as the crowd shuffles by. 

“I hate this night,” I say, a chill running down my spine as I see young girls, freshly of age, walking hand in hand with their mothers—both with equal chances at having their names drawn.

“Me too,” Ron says, nervously scanning the crowd, “Have you seen Ginny? She wanted to sit with us; she has a bad feeling about this year.”

I haven't seen Ginny in months. After the war ended, we decided to be friends, mostly because I was too fucked up to date her and give her what she needed, but also because I realized I’m gay. No surprise there though, I think everyone saw it coming—except me. It came as a bit of a nasty shock when I started to pretend Ginny was Charlie when I kissed her. It ended civilly, but Ginny and I still prefer to keep our distance.

“The odds are slim, Ron; she’ll be fine.”

“You think I don’t know that? She’s worried, Harry, it doesn’t matter what the odds are. We need to find her so she can sit with us.”

“She doesn’t want to sit with Neville?”

“No, they are on the outs. You know, Ginny, she’s hard to love sometimes.”

I didn’t agree; I also didn’t _not_ agree. I always try to keep quiet when it comes to Ginny. 

Ron starts waving, and another head of red hair makes its way towards us, “Ginny, over here.” Ron shouts, and she waves back, letting him know she has seen us.

“Harry. Ron.” She says, hugging us both.

“How are you, Ginny?” I asked, out of habit, knowing damn well no one was okay today, on the day of the lotto.

“As good as I can be considering I might have to fuck Hagrid if things line up just right.” She said sarcastically.

I don't want to think about it, but stranger things have happened during the lotto. 

Last year was an easy year; a female was chosen, she was 37 and a widow, two men were picked, one of the men was married with four children, the other was a single 22-year-old, it was a no brainer. They had gotten it over with that same night, and life went on as usual for everyone else. I can't help but wonder if their lives went on as usual, or if it lingers with you for a lifetime.

I don’t think sex is that heavy, it can be casual, and not talked about or dwelled on. I have had my fair share of one night stands, slept with people I knew, and never spoke about it again. Hell, I lost my virginity to Ginny, and look at us now, entirely civil. But the lottery made it different from any other one-night stand or affair. It was sex at a cost: Fuck or die.

“You won’t be picked, Ginny,” Ron reassures her.

“And if I am?” she argues.

“You won’t be.” He repeats—she doesn’t press him.

We take our seats, the arena seems packed, a lot of young men and women have recently come of age. I couldn’t imagine having my first sexual experience being forced on me by the lotto.

The crowd begins to settle. No one ever arrives late. People want to get it over with as soon as possible. A universal sense of dread starts to spread months before the lotto, nightmares plaguing many of us. I often question what kind of man I am that I’m not affected by the lotto that way.t I certainly don't want my name to be drawn from the cauldron, but I also don't spend much time worrying about it.

Kinglsey steps to the stage and presses his wand to his throat, the crowd grows silent in anticipation. Five years he has carried the burden of pulling the names from the cauldron, like drafting innocents into a war they never signed up to fight in. I can't imagine the burden he carries, I don't envy him his position of power. 

“Great witches and wizards, we have overcome war, we have overcome a Dark Lord, but here we are again, another year into the lotto, and we have yet to find a way to put an end to this vile curse placed upon us. It is with great sadness and burden that I bring with me today, on the eve of Voldemort’s death, the lotto cauldron. As you all know, I will choose three names tonight. Of the three names selected, two of you must complete the act of sexual intimacy to stay alive. You will have three nights, and if the act is not performed by then, all three of the names called will drop dead. I know a lot of you are freshly aged in, I know a lot of you are married, I know a lot of you carry this fear year round that you might hear your name called out, but let me leave you all with this before we proceed; one is not made up by the acts they do in honour but by how they take that honour and live afterwards. Many good men and women have done honourable things and tarnished their good deeds with living in shame or too much pride. While others have taken their honourable doings and continued to use it for good. So, I say, take this not as something that will define you, but as something that will set you and all the faces around you free.”

There’s an eruption of clapping and cheering, undertones of sobs, and fearful sighs. 

“Let the sixth lotto begin.” He says, dipping a shaky hand into the black pewter cauldron.

The arena falls eerily silent. You could hear a pin drop. 

He reaches his hand into the cauldron and announces, “The first name to be selected for the lotto is Lucius Malfoy.”

You can hear the crown draw in a deep breath, almost in unison, and then chatter erupts. I haven't seen the Malfoy family since the war, and no number of honourable things could take back the horrible things that man was a part of. He deserves this.

“The second name to be selected for the lotto is,” Kingsley pauses just long enough for everyone to still, “Harry Potter.”

The air is immediately sucked out of my lungs. I know Ron is shaking me, saying something panicked in my ear, I can hear Ginny weeping, although I don’t know why—she should hate me. The arena finally comes back into focus as I blink away the dizziness and steady my wobbly feet. Kingsley is speaking into his wand, but I can’t make out what he is saying. 

It's me; I have been picked. Why is it always me? Can I ever just not be chosen for something? Why do I feel I am always a lamb being led to the slaughter?

Ron hands me a flask of fire whiskey, and I take a swing trying to hear what Kingsley is saying. I need to know who else gets picked; I need to know who will possibly save my life because if it were up to Lucius, I am a dead man walking.

“Quiet, please, everyone, for the respect of the first two names drawn, quiet so they can decide how they will go about this year's lotto outcome. The sooner this is over for all of us, the better.”

The crowd starts to settle, but I can still feel eyes on me, I can still hear my name being whispered even as Kingsley draws the third name.

“The third name to be selected for the lotto is,” Kingsley’s face goes pale, making this the first time a name has caused him to fumble. In a shaky voice, he says, “The third name is Draco Malfoy.”


	2. The Agreement

I’m led through the back of the arena by two ministry official Aurors. Neither of them has made eye contact with me or spoken a word. This is the first year all of the three names drawn are of the same sex. This is also the first year family members have been drawn. This is the first year anyone fears people will die, especially considering the past between us.

I haven’t seen Draco since the war, since he tried to kill me. I haven’t seen his father since his sentencing for crimes against the wizarding world, where I testified against him, looking him dead in the eyes as I did so, only to find out he was let off. I hate them both, and for the second time in my life, I seriously consider sacrificing myself. 

The room they take me to is dark. I see Draco and his father huddled in a corner whispering, they look cosy--maybe they can fuck each other. I walk over to Kingsley, his face full of worry and apology; he has to know this isn’t his fault.

“Harry, I am so sorry. I hate to see you put in this position.” He says.

“It's not your fault, Kingsley. Don’t think for one second that I blame you.”

“Three men. It’s cruel. And the Malfoy men, oh, Harry, whatever will you do?”

_I’ll fuck one of them,_ I think, because it’s true. I know that’s what this comes down to—sticking my dick, if I can get it hard, in one of these assholes—no pun intended.

Kinglsey signals Lucius and Draco over, “As you all know, this is a first for the lotto,”

Lucius lets out a huff.

“Now we all know the rules, two of you have to sign on the parchment that you agree to engage sexually to save all three of you.”

Draco runs his long pale fingers through his icy white hair, “I’m not fucking my father, I think we can all agree on that.”

The room just nods in agreement.

“Draco, you will not be fucking anyone and nor will I. This curse has to stop. There has to be an out.”

I can't help but laugh at this; of course, Lucius would think that suddenly because someone of his stature is in the lotto, there has to be some easy way out, some way to use his money and stature to save him.

“You know the curse better than I do, Lucius, considering you worked side by side with the Dark Lord himself,” Kingsley said.

“That does not mean I know anything about the curse. He did not tell anyone of this. He made sure to take it to his grave.”

“Let’s hear what Harry has to say,” Kingsley interjects.

I decide this is my perfect moment to get under Lucius’ skin, “I’d rather have the old one, Draco isn’t my type.”

Draco’s head snapped up, “I would _destroy_ your ass, you fag!”

I find this laughable because I see a lot of truth in his comment; he was known to fool around with other males back at school. There was always talk of the Slytherins and the parties they would have in the dungeons. I know that Draco may favour women, but he is not opposed to men. If anything, it’s likely the other way around, and he prefers men, but he can’t come clean because his father is a raging pureblood homophobe.

Kingsley clears his throat, “We need to focus here. The scroll has to be signed by midnight, or you all die.”

“I need a moment with my son,” Lucius said, and they found their way back to the corner of the room.

I pull out my wand and cast a spell that helps me eavesdrop on the two of them. 

“You will sign on the dotted line, buy me three days to set my will in order and say goodbye to your mother. But you will not dishonour this family. We will die with our heads high, our honour intact, and with Potter finally dead once and for all.”

“And what about me, don’t I get a say? I would rather not be dead in three days, Father.”

“Better dead than a stain on the family name.”

“I could keep us alive.”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

“You make me sick, Father; I don’t know how you would rather be dead with your name intact than alive with a homo for a son.”

Lucius brought a stern finger to Draco’s chest, “Don’t call yourself that, this is all circumstance. No son of mine is a…”

“Father, just stop. Stop before you say something I can't forgive you for.”

“You won't have to; we will all be dead before then.”

Draco turns on his heel and heads back to the table where the scroll is laying, under his breath, I hear him say, _that’s what you think,_ and I suddenly knew this was going to happen. I am about to agree to fuck my arch-nemesis.

“What do you say, Potter, fancy a shag?” he says, looking over his shoulder at his father with a smirk.

I walk over and without breaking eye contact, reach for the quill and sign the dotted line.

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” He says.

Lucius storms from the room, and Kingsley seals the scroll.

“You have three nights. Please remember that this is life or death. Leave your pride behind for this and stay alive.” Kingsley says, and then he is gone, leaving me and Draco alone.

I feel a tug on my groin;  _ I’m going to fuck Draco Malfoy _ .

“Well, Potter, do we just pound this out here or do you need me to take you on a few dates before I destroy your ass.”

“Who said anything about _you_ destroying _my_ ass?”

“You look like a bitch, so I just assumed you were a bottom.”

“You look like your mom, so I just assumed you were a dirty whore.” I say back.

Draco slams his palms into my chest, hauling me to the floor. I slide before my back hits the wall; I could fucking kill him now.

“Don’t you ever speak ill of my mother.” He shouts and turns to leave.

I stand, rubbing the soreness on my arse, “I thought you were going to take me on a date?” I shout after him. He flips me the bird and begins to leave but turns before he exits.

“Meet me at Salt and Stone Icereamery at noon tomorrow. We have three nights to warm up to the idea of my dick in your ass. I think we should start with some ice cream.” He says and walks away, his black cloak trailing behind him in a dramatic exit.

I watch him until he is gone, realizing two things, one being that I didn’t take Draco for an ice cream guy and two being that my dick is incredibly hard at the thought of it.


	3. The Ice Cream

We sit outside Salt and Stone, it’s a crowded, hot afternoon, perfect for ice cream and, despite everyone’s eyes on us—the lotto winners, or losers, depending on how you look at it—I still manage to eat my ice cream.

Not awkward at all. Not. At. All.

It’s one of the hottest days we’ve had but not the good hot. It's humid, and I feel like I was just slapped in the face with a damp washcloth by the time our ice cream arrives.

I order butter pecan and Draco orders like a goddamn child--Cotton Candy Crackle. It takes everything in my power not to laugh at him as he says those words, _I’ll have the Cotton Candy Crackle, please._ I took him more for a toffee or mint kind of guy.

We don’t say anything as we wait. It’s a different kind of silence. It’s the kind of silence that is full of things needing to be said, but neither of us is ready to say them. How do we go about this, where are we going to do this, and when? Time is ticking like a death clock.

“I hate pecans.” Draco finally says, “the texture makes my teeth hurt.”

I smile and eyeball the multicoloured ice cream he is sucking down, licking, slurping, and then crunching at the little candy crystals like a toddler.

“What the hell are you smiling about, Potter?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to smile on our first date?” I ask.

“Fuck off.”

“Well, if you must know, I find it rather odd that pecans hurt your teeth but crystallized sugar doesn’t.”

Draco takes another bite and chomps down hard on the candy, “Guess not.”

“Draco, I know you’re not going to bring it up, so I will…” I start.

“No, not yet,” he interrupts, “Let me enjoy my damn ice cream. Fucks sake, Potter, are you eager?”

I take a bite, my cup of ice cream already soupy due to the intense heat, “Yeah, I am Draco. I don’t want to sit around wondering when this is going to happen—I also don’t trust you, so I don’t want to wait until the last night, and have you bail on me, leaving me for dead.”

“Do you think I hate you that much? That I would kill my father and myself to see you suffer? You have no idea, do you?”

“No idea about what?” I ask.

Draco leans over the table and presses his sweet lips to my ear, “I’ve been dying to fuck the hate I have for you out of my system. The second I found out you left that dirty Weasley bitch, I knew I wanted your ass. This may come as a shock to you, Potter, but I plan on enjoying this very much.”

As he pulls away, I feel the loss of his lips near me. The smell of much too sweet ice cream lingers, and my cock twitches. He pulls the cup that was holding his ice cream to his lips and drinks the melted cotton candy milk.

“I have to go. I’ll see you again tomorrow here at noon. I think I need another scoop of that before summer ends. It’s a limited flavour.”

\--

I arrive at Salt and Spoon at exactly noon. I see Draco sitting at the table we shared yesterday. He is reading the Daily Prophet, our faces plastered on the front with a scandalous headline. I’m caught off guard by the sight of the pale, bare skin of his arms on display—the dark mark on his forearm. Draco has always worn pureblood attire, cloak and full suit, no matter the weather. The sight of so much pale skin on show, even just his arms, makes me anxious. The twitch and pull in my pants is a reminder of why I’m here, and when he checks the watch on his wrist, it’s an unpleasant reminder that the clock is ticking. I need to cut back on the niceties and convince him to come home with me and get this over with.

“Did you order?” I ask.

“Sit down, Potter,” he says, his eyes never leaving the paper, “Did you see this article? They honestly think your name getting pulled from the cauldron might end the curse. They think you fucking me might end it,” he looks up at me with a cheeky grin, “Is your cock magic, Potter?”

“I’ve been told it is, but I don’t know if it's curse-breaking good.” I retort.

He snickers and flags the server over, “I’ll have the Cotton Candy Crackle, please. Make it two scoops this time.”

The server asks what I’m having, and I go for one scoop of peanut butter crunch and one scoop of classic strawberry, despite my stomach being in knots; it's day two. We have until midnight tomorrow, or we die.

“You really like that flavour?” I ask, as he goes right back to reading the prophet.

He ignores the question completely. “They are saying that my father is more afraid of his son fucking you than dying.” He laughs, and the sound of his amusement does something to me.

“Is he?”

Draco looks up at me, through me, and then back at me.

“Yes.”

I don’t say anything. I would like to think that if my mum and dad were alive, they would not only support my sexual preferences but beg me to do this to save me from death. But I could be wrong because I don’t know them, they were stolen from me by Voldemort. Sometimes I wonder if he did get the last laugh after all.

“So, when were you thinking…” I start to say.

He slams down the paper, “Dammit, Harry. Can we not enjoy a sunny afternoon, some ice cream, and each other’s company without you begging me to fuck you?”

“I just…” he cuts me off again, a burst of laughter erupting from him.

“Calm down, Potter; I’m only messing with you. We can fuck tomorrow night. Say, eight pm, that gives you time for seconds, since you will be begging for it.”

“So, why not tonight? Why the run-around and the ice cream and the half-assed conversations Draco? How do I know you won’t bail on me?”

Our ice cream arrives. Draco lets my questions and suspicions linger as he takes a bite of the rainbow-coloured ice cream. His eyes closed, he hums, and he takes in all the flavours of it like it’s the best thing he’s ever had. I watch as he takes another,= and then another, =until it goes from merely watching Draco eat pastel ice cream to a full-blown sexual experience. Neither of us even notice the waiter stopping by to see if we need anything else.

If his lips look like this wrapped around a spoon, what would they look like on my cock?

If he sounded so sexy slurping down his dessert, what would it sound like if it was my ass, he was eating?

My hands drop to my lap.

I am at full wood.

I snap out of it.

“Draco, stop mouth fucking your ice cream. Tell me why we can’t get it over with tonight?”

He drops his spoon into the bowl, specks of colour flying onto his black V-neck tee shirt—casual looks good on him, might I add—and glares at me.

“I don’t fuck on the second date.” He says and stands to leave, but not before leaning in to hover over me and whisper into my ear, the scent of cotton candy on his breath. “Make sure you take care of this,” He says, discreetly running a finger along my erection, “before tomorrow. I don’t want you to blow your load too fast, I have a lot of hate I need to fuck away.”

\--

In twelve hours, I will be one of two things: dead or fucked. I have never in my life wanted a dick more than I want Draco Malfoy’s. I don’t even necessarily _want_ his dick, as much as I _need_ his dick and _want_ to stay alive. 

But wanting his dick certainly helps.

I show up to Salt and Stone at 11:45 am, fifteen minutes earlier than our regular ‘date’ time. I haven’t slept much the past two nights, and my stomach is in limbo between being really fucking hungry and really fucking sour.

Draco is nowhere to be seen. 

_What if he doesn’t show? What if he played me? What if his father got to him? Today could be my last day alive._

My thoughts run rampant. I turn down ice cream and ask for a cup of tea. The waitress eyes me over; she is thinking it’s already been done, that I am alive because Draco and I already fucked. Well, she is wrong, and he doesn’t show up in the next twenty minutes, I will call out a team of Aurors to hunt his ass down, and then I will stun him and fuck his lifeless body because I don’t want to fucking die today. I’ve already fought too hard for the breath in my lungs and, honesty, I deserve a few more years, at least for the whole, _Killing the Dark Lord_ thing.

Dark clouds roll in, an omen of some sort, I’m sure.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I think I'm _dying today._

Then the downpour starts. This can’t be good.

I rush into the ice cream shop to take cover from the rain when the waitress comes to me, letter in hand.

“An owl delivered this just before the rain.”

I open the small piece of rolled parchment; the few raindrops it endured are not enough to keep his words from annoying me.

_ Harry, _

_ I can’t make it to ice cream. Something came up. I will be at your flat at 8 pm to get this over with and possibly have a good time if you're lucky. _

_ -Lover _

__

Lover? Well played Draco—well played.

\--

It takes what feels like 16 hours to get to 8 pm. I showered, shaved, brushed my teeth twice,  _ I wonder if we will kiss?  _ And I wait. I try to read or work on my book, but I can’t keep my head in one place long enough. 

Outside, the summer storm is making people scurry into the shops that line the street below my flat above the bookstore. I can hear the heavy raindrops beating on the rain gutter by my open window; it's going to the beat of my heart—wild, fast, hard, frantic. 

I pace the room, stopping to glance out the window to see if I can make him out, looking for the all-black attire I expect him to be wearing, a black umbrella covering a pale figure with icy white hair. I don’t see him. I pace some more.

I contemplate lighting some candles, but I think of the storm, the flashes of lighting, the tremble of my walls with thunder, the tremble of my bones with fear—candles can’t help me now.

I turn on my record player, replaying the last album I listened to, hoping like hell that the music will drown out my anxieties. 

It's 8:07; he’s _late._

I pick up the parchment I’ve read a hundred times since the lotto—my will. It has been drawn up for years now, but this is the first time I pulled it out to make sure my affairs are in order. Of course, I am leaving my savings to Ron and Hermione, my best friends, without whom I would not have made it this far. I've never touched the grant money I received from the ministry to cover me financially for saving humanity. I haven’t touched money, that’s blood money in my eyes. Yes, I killed Voldemort, but not without many people dying fighting beside me, and it feels like blood money. I plan to leave it all to Hogwarts, to help underprivileged students, all the students like Ron, so they never have to go without a wand or a broom or robes or books. 

It’s 8:15, and if he is not here in five minutes, I’ll go hunt him down.

Right as I start to panic, there is a knock on my door. He’s here. Thank fuck, he came.

I open the door, probably way too quickly and much too eagerly, but I remind myself that it’s my life on the line and my eagerness is warranted.

He is dressed-down, black jeans and an emerald green short-sleeved button-up shirt, the snake and skull tattoo a little too visible for my taste, but still, he looks sexy, and I know I should hate that, but, for fucks sake, it helps.

He takes a step closer to me; I can almost feel his breath on my face. Our nerves ping pong off each other in a silent exchange of hellos.

“Potter.” He says, his voice low and gravelly.

“Come in,” I say and step aside.


	4. The Ice Breaker

Draco hesitates before he comes in. Shaking the rain from his umbrella first, he leans it against the wall outside of my loft and takes a slow and hesitant step in. He bends to untie polished black boots and places them neatly by the front door next to my shoes. Looking around, he takes in what my space looks like. I can only imagine it is different than what he is accustomed to. 

“Do you want a drink?” I ask.

He turns to me, “Beer would be nice.”

I head to the kitchen and pull out two chilled steins and pour us both a dark chocolate stout.

“Here you go,” I say, handing the beer over, “Do you want to sit, we could…”

“What? Get to know each other better?”

I shrug. I don’t know what the fuck to do next, making conversation seemed like a good start.

I sit on the couch and, thank fuck, Draco follows suit.

“So, do you want to get to know me better, Potter?”

“I don’t really have a preference for how this happens, Draco, as long as it happens before midnight.”

He sips his beer and looks around again, his eyes trail over pictures that line the small fireplace.

“Let’s see, how does this go—oh yes, hi, I’m Draco, I was raised to be a dark wizard,” he raises his wrist to show proof. Like I didn’t already know that.

He continues, “My father is a homophobe on the outside but part of me thinks that’s because he is a closeted piece of shit, and although I blame him for much of my hardship in life, including choosing to not be open about my _own_ sexuality—I would never let him die. In fact, me fucking you to save his life will be the first time I will defy his wishes and possibly end our relationship, all the while doing it to save _his_ life. So,” he sips his beer again, “You can relax, Potter, I will hold up to my end of the lotto. I will leave here tonight with plenty of air in my lungs, although I plan to leave you panting.”

Despite his ill-timed jokes, I feel my shoulder relax. I take a gulp of my beer and decide to keep up the getting-to-know-you act. My eyes scan the dark ink on his wrist, “Why have you never got your dark mark covered or removed?” I ask incredulously.

“Well, several reasons, the most obvious one being I can’t, you twat. Do you really think Voldemort would brand us with something we could so easily be rid of? And the other reason is I don’t want to. I like the reminder of where I came from, and how far I’ve come. I’m still a smug asshole, don’t get me wrong, but I have made changes, too. Changes that didn’t come easy, considering they were under the public eye.”

“Did you want to be a dark wizard? Had you been given a chance at something different when you were younger, would you have taken the opportunity?”

“You mean, while I was in the thick of my father’s brainwashing, would I have chosen the good side over the bad?”

“Yes. Had you seen an out at Hogwarts, would you have taken it?”

Draco looks down at his forearm, running a long pale, and oddly beautiful finger over the dark mark, “I did have an out, Harry. Did it never occur to you that the same people who were saving your ass year after year, were also trying to save mine? That your beloved Dumbledore might be helping students at Hogwarts other than you? Or did you honestly believe you were the only one he cared about?”

I had _not_ considered that. I knew Dumbledore cared, but I never stopped to consider that when he wasn’t with me, he was with other lost souls, trying to shape them to help them fit into better cutouts—better lives.

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because blood is thicker than water, Potter, and if it’s pure blood, it’s as thick as quicksand, sucking you deep, trapping you—sometimes, killing you.”

“I wouldn’t know, I never got to know my mum and dad, and as for the family who raised me, I would have to disagree, they mean nothing to me, the blood between us is as thin as the veil that took my godfather’s life.”

Draco looked me over, his eyes incredulous, his lips a quiver away from some hurtful words, I’m sure of it.

“I’m sorry about your mum and dad, and I’m sorry using it against you any chance I got. I think, at times, I would have rather had no parents at all than my own.”

I am at a loss for words. An apology from a Malfoy was like a golden ticket from Willy Wonka. 

“Yeah, yeah. Suck it up, Potter, it felt like the right thing to do. Don’t make me regret it.”

_I won’t._

“My father and I have been estranged for a while now, to be honest. When I ended things with Pansy, he threatened to disown me. He didn’t, but after this, I almost wish he would have.”

“Why did you end things with Pansy?” I ask, although, I’m almost certain I know the answer.

“She was a bitch.” He said, and once again I almost shoot beer out of my nose—he is full of surprises tonight.

“That’s not what I was expecting to hear.”

“What? It’s the truth. I couldn’t handle being married to a pureblood snob like my mother, and I love my mother, but no way in hell could I marry one…besides Pansy didn’t do it for me anymore.”

“Yeah, high school sweethearts rarely make the final cut.”

“Like you and that dirty Weasley?”

“Yes, like me and _Ginny,_ ” I say, adding emphasis on her name, encouraging him to use it next time because given any other situation I would have punched his fucking eyes out of his head for speaking about Ginny that way, but tonight I tread lightly—at least until midnight.

“You ditched her because she didn’t have a cock?” he asks, an amused smile on his face.

“I broke up with her because after the war I wasn’t emotionally stable enough to be in a relationship.”

“And because you fancy cock?” he jokes.

“I need another beer. You?”

“Sure,” he says, holding out the stein, and then pulling it back, “After you admit you like cock.”

I laugh. I laugh because it’s funny. Draco is funny. I never in a million years thought I would be sharing a beer with Draco and laughing at the jokes he is making at my expense.

“I never knew you could be funny,” I admit, “And to answer your question--am I gay? Yes, Draco, I am gay, but I thought all of the wizarding world knew that.”

“Yeah, they do, I just wanted to hear you say you were a homo.” He jokes, holding out his stein.

“Takes one to know one, pretty boy.”

“Are you calling me pretty?” he asks.

“Yeah, you look like your mum, if I were straight, I would picture her face when I plough you.”

“No mum jokes.” He says firmly.

“Fine, no more Weasley jokes,” I add.

“Deal.” He says, and while his face holds a smile, I catch a hint of something dark and unsettling in his eyes,

When I return the room feels cold, and I find Draco standing, his long fingers anxiously twisting between each other. His whole demeanour changed, the once cool and snarky Draco that minutes ago was joking and apologizing was gone. Only to be replaced by chalky skin and strung out eyes. He pauses when he notices me standing there, watching him, trying to decipher what is going on in his head.

“Everything okay?” I ask. Stupid question considering nothing about this is okay. Nothing about two grown men, former enemies, fucking for their lives is okay.

“It’s just, I’ve hated you for so long,” he says, his words insidious and dark, a chill runs down my spine, “I hated everything about you. My father incessantly comparing me to you _. Why didn’t you make the quidditch team Draco? Why are you not the favourite at Hogwarts Draco?_ Dumbledore loved you, and Snape was fucking obsessed with you, and everyone that I should have had in my corner was in yours, and you were chosen, and my father—my father never shut up about you. And you got to be on the good side, I mean, you were the fucking poster boy for it,” he lets out a wicked laugh, “People rooted for you, while they stalked me and watched my every move. No one trusted me because of my last name, but they didn’t bat an eye at you and all the rules you were breaking, and why? _Why?_ Because you had your mother’s eyes?” his voice breaks, his eyes well with tears of rage.

“But what they didn’t know was what a fucking piece of shit your father was…and if your father was a piece of shit, why were you not guilty by association like I was? Snape told me the things your dear old father got away with, and you are just like him—a cunty little bitch.” He looked up, as if pleading with the heavens, his long spider-like hands ripping at his hair, “Why of everyone in the lotto was it him?” he looked back at me, his face menacing, his eyes burning holes into my soul.

He walked closer to me, closing the gap, he leaned into my ear and in a low and taunting voice he said, “Not that I would rather fuck a Dirty Weasley.”

I push him back with drink filled hands, spilling some of the foamy dark beer to the floor, “Where the fuck is all of this coming from? We were being civil seconds ago, Draco.”

“Fuck civil, there is no civility left when you are in this position. I told myself I could warm up to you, have some ice cream, small talk, a few beers. Maybe flirt a little, say I’m sorry that your parents got offed…but fuck if I don’t still want to smash that stupid fucking scar of yours into the wall every time I see it.”

“So, this is how it’s going to be Draco? Why does everything with you people end in a fight?”

“You people? _You people?_ You think you are so Goddamn important, but guess what, Potter? No number of scars on your precious chosen body could save you from this.”

“What? Do you think I asked for this? Just the other day you laughed at the idea of me being able to break the curse, but did you see me laughing? I have been living under immense amounts of pressure because of this scar. You speak of the posters that called me the chosen one but don’t forget what the other set said, don’t forget that in a matter of a year, I went from being a boy chosen to be the saviour, to a boy worth more when he was dead. Don’t forget the posters that said WANTED, the ones that had a bounty for my head on a stick. Don’t forget that I already did this once, I already died for you once, you selfish, entitled arse! You have no fucking idea what I’ve been through! You don’t know _shit_ about being Harry Potter!”

Draco rushes me, placing both hands on my chest he shoves me as hard as possible. I stumble back, my legs hitting the couch. I throw the remainder of the beer in his face, and like a wild animal, he flings his head to the side, shaking the beer from him like a ferocious wet dog.

Draco runs at me again, wrapping his arms around my chest and throwing me into the couch, his body crashing into mine, his eyes untamed and vacant, his lips crashing into mine hard and unforgiving.

“This is how it has to be, Potter,” he says, breaking away before his mouth finds mine again, his words broken between frantic hard kisses, “It has to be this or nothing. I want to see you scream, I want to feel your body bruise under my hands,” he reaches for my shirt and lifts it in one swift motion, his teeth meeting my hard nipple with a bite, and I flinch at the pain.

“I want to watch as welts cover your skin. I want to make you bleed. I want to inflict all the pain I felt towards you for years in one night,” he says. 

I know it has to be this way, too. I know that once again I sacrifice my body for my soul, and worse for the souls of the people hurting me.

I reach up and rip the buttons of his shirt open, the sound of them skittering across the floor, some finding their place with the shards of glass from the steins that had shattered on the floor when he pushed me.

His hands rake up and down my arms, his nails digging in, ensuring every part of this pleasure is laced with pain.

“Bedroom, now.” He growls, pulling me up by my belt.

I lead the way and Draco finds his place behind me as we walk, his arms around my waist, his teeth nipping my hairline, his cock pressing into my ass.

We are panting by the time we enter the room, Draco shutting the door behind himself and locking it out of habit. He doesn’t even hesitate—behind closed, locked doors is what his sexuality has always looked like, and tonight I will pay the consequences of that.

We both rid ourselves of our remaining clothes, frantically. 

I don’t know what drives us now. So many motives: life, death, desire, pain. 

Our cocks are hard, sprung free from our trousers. We slow for a moment, just to size each other up, both as males and enemies and soon to be lovers, if you can even call it that.

Draco’s cock is both long and thick, pale with a darker pink tip. He has himself groomed like most females I have fucked, neat and short, pale hair trails up from his groin, I watch as his spider-like hands grip his girth and stroke hard, rubbing his thumb over his slit; his balls tense up.

His eyes take me in, pale skin and dark hair, my cock not as long but doubled in girth. I know what he is thinking, he is thinking he is lucky that I will be the one taking a dick tonight because my cock would destroy his ass. A pang of longing shoots through me, knowing I won’t get to feel his walls wrapped tight around me.

Draco closes the distance between us and pushes his erection into mine. I let out a groan and it turns to a scream as he yanks my dick. 

“What the fuck Draco?” I lash out, and he tugs me again, “Ah, fuck.”

“I want to cut off your fat cock and petrify it so I can fuck it later without having to look at that stupid fucking scar.” He says, jerking me dry.

It hurts, but not so much that it doesn’t also feel good. My mind teeters between orgasm and anguish.

“Lube, you fucking asshole, you’re going to rip the fucking skin off my cock,” I say.

Draco stops the rough contact with my dick, and his lips find mine, he kisses me slow this time, our mouths being kinder in this kiss than anything that has happened tonight. I rub my cock against him and he groans into my mouth.

He pulls away from the kiss and looks down at our cocks pressed together, I watch as his lips pucker and as he lets spit fall from his mouth onto my cock. His hand finds me again and, with more ease this time, he begins to stroke me.

“You want to fuck my mouth, Potter?” he says more as a statement than a question.

“That’s not part of the rules,” I say, and regret it immediately; fuck the rules, Draco Malfoy is offering to suck me off.

“So, is that a no?”

“No.” I groan as he starts to stroke me faster.

“No, you don’t want to fuck my mouth. Or no, you do want to fuck my mouth?”

I take his silver hair into my fists and roughly push his head down, a wicked smile flashed on his lips, “Get on your knees.” I say, and he does not hesitate.

The roles reverse and the second his lips open I press my cock as far into his mouth as I can, hitting his throat. I watch him choke me down, but he never misses a beat, his hair tangled between my fists I realize all this power I have standing above him, him willing sucking me off, I hold tighter and begin to pump into him, fucking his mouth hard. He wants to leave bruises? I have bruises of my own to give. 

I thrust hard and deep, gagging him just enough that he doesn’t lose his lunch on my cock, but deep enough that I can feel his throat choke around my girth. I pound into his face, his nose is buried in my pubic hair that’s not as manicured as his. I can feel my orgasm coming, and I would usually give warning, pull away out of respect, but all respect between us was lost the second our names were pulled from the cauldron.

I feel his nails gripping into my ass, holding on for balance, and I thrust again and again until I can’t anymore. I thrust my cock as deep as physically possible one last time into his throat, and I release, holding his face deep against my groin, and I pour my hot, hate-filled come into is throat and almost fall to my knees as he milks me dry.

I stand there with my dick still in his mouth, and he laps me clean as he slowly releases my softening cock from his swollen lips.

He won’t be able to speak tomorrow, mark my words.

I fall to the bed, unable to stand. I feel his shaky body fall into the mattress next to me.

A moment passes, we are both panting, and I can feel him lazily stroking himself and I can already feel my cock twitch, threatening to get hard sooner than I thought possible.

“Damn, Potter, maybe I underestimated how much you hate me,” he jokes rubbing his jaw.

“I don’t hate you Draco.”

“You should.”

“I don’t.”

“You will when I’m done tonight.” he threatens, and that’s all it takes, I’m at full mast and reaching for the drawer to get the lubricating potion.

I want to hate him, I do, and if he delivers on his word, I might just be able to after tonight.


	5. The Act

“That didn’t take long,” Draco says, craning his neck up to notice my already erect cock, “Eager?”

“Yes, I am eager not to die. What’s taking you so long, are you afraid you might like it too much, Draco?”

“Oh, I know I’m going to like it.” He says, his weight shifting as he leans in to grab the bottle of lube, “On all fours Potter, if I can see that scar while I fuck you, I might just choke you to death.”

“What if I like to be choked?” I ask, taunting him.

“Did you miss the _to death_ part, Potter? Get on all fours—now.”

I listen. Not because I take orders from Draco or anyone for that matter, but because I want this, and not just so I can live, or for it to be over with—I want this because I need it. I need to know how his cock feels inside me. 

I hear him lather his erection in lube, and I feel him lean into me, his slippery tip probing at my entrance. I brace myself for the impact, for him to slam into me unapologetically, but it doesn’t come. 

Instead, I feel his hands on my ass as he pulls my cheeks open to him. I feel his mouth close to my hole, and my cock jumps; I knew he liked to eat ice cream, but I had no idea he was a fan of eating ass. His tongue grazes against me and I shiver at the sensation. His long fingers grip my ass tight, and he begins to fuck my ass with his mouth, pushing his tongue into me, probing and opening me up. 

“Fuck, feels good,” I mumble against my will. His mouth leaves me and I sigh, “fuck, don’t stop.”

His mouth is replaced with slick fingers, circling the tight muscle, teasing with a gentle push that breaks past the barrier, penetrating me, then pulling out. 

Tease.

“Your ass is tight, Potter, I thought for sure you would be properly broken in for me, seeing as how you are such a celebrity.” 

I impatiently wiggle my ass at him, “Fucking need it,” I whine, “I need it.”

He slowly presses a finger into me, and this time he doesn’t stop. Deeper and deeper he pushes it inside, then pulls all the way out. I miss him immediately, and the split-second between one finger and two feels like an eternity.

His fingers work me, pressing in and sliding out, stoking my deepest treasure with the curl of his fingers inside me, and I begin to come undone, pushing back against his hand to fuck it, and he lets out a deep growl.

He pulls his fingers from inside me, my ass nice and ready for him now: I am grateful. He lines up the head of his cock to my entrance and presses just enough to breach me. I feel the pre-come start to leak from my untouched cock.

He pulls his tip out and leans in to whisper, “I loathe you, Harry Potter.”

I look over my shoulder, his face is close, “Show me.”

His hands quickly move to my hips, he pulls my body close to him in a jerk, my arms falter and I almost buckle under his weight, but I grip tight and steady myself. I feel his hands spread my ass apart and once again the thick head of his cock is pressing into me, teasing me. I take a deep breath, and, this time, he does not hesitate. His hands forcibly pull my hips back, and his cock impales my ass. He pounds into me, and it feels like I am being both ripped apart and properly fucked. 

He withdraws from me and slams into me again, pushing himself as deep as he can into my ass. Feeling him pressinto my prostate, I let out what could be a moan of pleasure or a scream of agony. He finds his rhythm; it is as promised—hard and fast and unforgiving. My heavy cock bobbing as he fucks into my ass, with the slapping of skin and the grunts of a man gone wild. His fingers hold my hips tight, bruising the skin beneath them. 

With each thrust, he hits my prostate again and again. He pushes me to the mattress and my cock finds friction between the sheets. I reach out my hands and brace myself against the headboard as he continues to fuck me, bottoming out. 

I cry out, “Fuck, so good, so hard, I hate you…I love this…”

His hand reaches out and takes a handful of my hair, pulling my head back. He uses his firm grip there to keep his balance, my scalp burns, my balls ache, my ass begins to clench as orgasm threatens to end me completely.

“Turnover, Potter.” He growls as he pulls his cock from me.

I flipped over on command, his face is hard lines now, sweat forming on his upper lip; I want to lick it away, taste the salt on his flesh.

As if reading my mind, his lips crashed into mine, bruising me. He flings my legs over his shoulders, and in a hard thrust begins to fuck me again. The angle of my body allows him to destroy me with every hard push of his body into mine. 

He finds his rhythm in this new position. He begins to move faster, and he buries his cock deep into me, the friction of our bodies rubbing my leaking erection into the sheets and past the point of no return. He pulls out one last time and slams back into me, as deep as physically possible, hitting my prostate, and I come. White-hot jets of my orgasm coat both my skin and his.

He lets out a growl and his body jerks inside of me, I can feel the heat of his come filling my insides and coating the walls of my ass, hot molten semen.

Draco drops on top of me, his body on mine, his head in my chest, our skin slick with my come and his sweat.

“It’s over with,” he says into my chest.

“We live to see another day,” I say and without thinking I gently push white hair back from his eyes.

Draco rolls off me, and we lay on our backs, side by side, in silence. His chest still rising and falling heavily, my ass still throbbing from his doing. 

“What now?” I ask.

“I leave. And, at midnight, when my father doesn’t die, I assume I lose everything.”

“What will you do?”

Draco lets out a huff and quickly stands to get dressed, his body long and lean, his cock heavy as it hangs between his legs—spent.

“Don’t fucking worry about it, Potter,” he snaps.

And I tell myself I won’t worry about it. 

I watch as he gets dressed, using magic to clean the come from his body and to put the buttons back on his shirt. He heads for the door, and I want to walk him out, tell him that I won’t worry about him, but if he needs a place to go he can come here, but I don’t. I don’t because that’s not what you say to someone you just fucked for your life. That’s not something you say to someone who so openly hates you. So, I let him walk away, and while I promise myself I won’t worry about his fate, I hope to Merlin it ends up okay for him because, whether I like it or not, and whether Draco likes it or not, we are a lot alike, in a jaded sense and after tonight, I think we both have officially had enough with being fucked over. 


	6. The Day After

The next day I woke up late. I call off of work, knowing no one will fight me on it. They all know why. I feel an overwhelming amount of shame and anxiety; I feel used. I take a long bath soaking away our night, the smells of Draco lingering on my body, and I can’t wash away the feeling of his body on mine. 

My skin is laced with bruises, fingerprints on my hips, scratches on my back, bite marks around my nipples, on my neck, my ass sore and throbbing, my cock aching for more.

It’s sunset when I realized I have just been staring at the wall since morning, replaying the last three days. The highs and lows that came with the lotto and all the ways it will haunt me for a lifetime. I think of Draco and his father. I need closure; I want to know if he is okay or not. I need to know that what we did wasn’t in vain.

Just as I decide I should just go back to bed, give my mind a break from all of this insufferable thinking, there is a light knock on my door, I know instantly that this is the knock of a man broken.

I open the door to see him standing with his back to the wall, his shoulders low, his head lower; Draco Malfoy is worse for wear—things had not gone in his favour at midnight.

“Come in,” I say, and this time he doesn’t fight me, he takes off his shoes and puts them in the same place as he had last night, and I feel a pang of longing for it to be last night again, instead of the day after, when things seem worse—worse than death. 

“Do you want a drink?” I offer, he shakes his head no and has a seat on the broken-down couch.

I sit next to him, I want to wrap my arms around him, kiss his forehead, the intimacy from last night lingering in the air, willing me to do things I would never do for my known enemy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask gingerly. 

He lowers his head into his hands and rubs his palms into his eyes.

“It was all for nothing.” He says, his voice low and broken.

“Don’t say that. We are alive. He is alive.”

“I went to sleep with air in my lungs, and I woke up with an empty Gringotts account, my inheritance gone, disowned, with no home, and you know what the saddest part about it is?”

I shake my head, “I can’t possibly imagine anything worse than my family writing me off for saving their lives.”

“The worst part is that was all I ever had. Money. I never depend on anyone for anything because I had this false security in my wealth, in the Malfoy name. I leaned on my money more than friends, and now I don’t have either.”

I act without thinking and begin to rub his back. I want to take away his pain. I know he hasn’t always been the best man, but I know he has done his fair share of suffering.

“Nothing…it was all for nothing.”

I lean in and place my chin on his shoulder. He turns to face me, and we are one breath away from being mouth to mouth, “It wasn’t for nothing, Draco. It wasn’t.” 

“What are you saying, Potter?” 

I don’t answer him; I show him. I lean in just one breath closer and kiss his sad lips gently, with all the emotion I have. I kiss him in a way that shows him that he may have lost everything, but he gained me. All of my anger and confusion towards this man suddenly turned to understanding and compassion and a desire to figure it all out with him. One hard heart, plus one wounded heart, surely equals a whole heart: a heart that loves and beats and lives and thrives. 

He pulls back, his eyes searching. 

“Why don’t you hate me?” 

“I never hated you. I told you that yesterday.”

“You should,” he says.

“You already warned me of that yesterday,” I joke and pull him back to the couch and into my arms. It feels strangely comforting and familiar.

“Yesterday,” I say, tracing my hands along the veins showing through the pale skin of his arms, “I waited for you at the ice cream shop and I kept thinking…”

He cut me off, “That I wouldn’t show?” 

“No, I knew you would show eventually. I kept thinking that it was the last day of summer. That it was the last day they would offer your favourite ice cream—Cotton Candy Crackle, and it made me sad that you weren’t going to get one last scoop.”

“Really? You thought of that on the day I could ultimately end your life.” 

“I did.” 

Draco stays silent and lets his body do all the talking. I feel him ease into me and hear him release a heavy sigh.

“I got you a pint. It’s in the freezer.”

Draco sits up straight, “You what?”

“I got you a pint of your flavour, would you like to have some ice cream with me, Draco Malfoy?”

“Is this a date?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think it is.” 

“We are doing things pretty backwards, don’t you think?”

I think about it for a second and kiss his forehead.

“Yes, but neither of us have ever had the convenience of life being normal or easy, so I think this is well deserved.” 

Draco hesitantly takes my hand in his, and I can feel his nerves in the clamminess of his skin.

“So now what?” he asks, his words mirroring mine from last night.

“I guess we eat ice cream.” 

He smiles, and it is s the first genuine smile I have ever seen from him, and while it is weary and uncertain, it is perfect.

“And after ice cream?” he asks.

“Well, you already fucked me like you hated me, I want you to fuck me like you don’t.”


End file.
